


some questions are best left answered

by TeaLies



Series: growing up (is certainly a trial by fire) [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: And superheroing generally doesn't let you live a double life, Awesome Pepper Potts, But then again this IS Tony Stark we're talking about, Christmas Fluff, Especially cause hey he has a kid now, Gen, I'm doing one of those fics, Like nine years old, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Precious Peter Parker, References to Home Alone Movies, She pretty much sleeps for this entire fic but hey, She's always awesome, The by-products of Howard Stark's terrible parenting: emotional internalising, The most precious!, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark has a MASSIVE guilt complex, Young Peter Parker, that's right folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 18:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17309582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaLies/pseuds/TeaLies
Summary: ‘Christmas has always been Peter’s favourite holiday. Not just because it means snow-days or long hours spent in the lab, but because he gets to spend time with his family.’Watching the classic holiday movie Home Alone with his dad and Pepper a few days before Christmas seems like a pretty harmless idea to nine-year-old Peter. He really doesn’t mean to bring up the unusual questions and a promise that the world’s biggest Guilt-Ridden Dad is determined to not break.





	some questions are best left answered

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This idea literally came out of nowhere and hit me like a freight-truck. In case you're wondering, yes, this is part of an eventual series, just one that might take a little while to come to fruition. In the meantime, I hope ya'll enjoy!

_2010- New York_.

Christmas has always been Peter’s favourite holiday. Not just because it means snow-days or long hours spent in the lab, but because he gets to spend time with his family. Most of the year he’s at school and Pepper’s running _SI_ and his dad is away on top-secret missions that he’s not really supposed to know about but is told anyways because he’s really good at keeping secrets and would never tell on his dad, not to anyone. Maybe not even to Pepper. _Maybe_. 

But when November flows into December and all the lights begin to be put up, and everywhere he goes there is some version of one carol or another played on a loudspeaker, that’s when Dad and Pepper become more than just late-night hugs on the way to bed, or early morning kisses as everyone rushes to meetings and conferences and school. They’re suddenly there; Pepper sitting down with him at breakfast, asking him about projects and what Ned’s been up to. In the evenings it’s Dad, wiping motor oil from his hands as he shows off the bare bones of another really awesome project, mumbling around a mouthful of pasta.

Or like right now: sitting in their lounge-room, watching _Home Alone_ together as he quotes all the best parts under his breath. The Grandfather clock standing proudly by the wall has its hands pointed to the ten and twelve, a sign that it’s definitely passed his usual bedtime. But Dad's ‘waived the deadline’ since it’s three days before Christmas, and so far no one’s noticed.

Peter pulls his gaze away from where little Kevin is plotting his home-defence, hoping to catch the attention of his dad or Pepper. It’s his favourite part, and he doesn’t want anyone to miss it.

Perfectly painted red nails indicate where Pepper’s lying on the couch. Her legs are stretched out in front of her, heels dropped on the floor and her head carefully propped under one hand. Peter hesitates to wake her- they’ve rewatched _Home Alone_ enough times to have it memorised, and she’s just gotten back from a conference in Tokyo. Waking her just to quote one of his favourite scenes probably wouldn’t be very nice, even if he really, really wants to.

A low rumble comes from his near-left. His dad, with his head tilted back in a snore, has one hand still stuck in the bowl of popcorn.

Peter giggles, and whispers. “JARVIS, take a photo.”

Obligingly, there comes the click of a camera shutter from the A.I.

_Score_ \- another goofy photo for the Christmas cards. And maybe, if he doesn’t accidentally spill the beans like usual, another photo that he can sneak off to Uncle Rhodey to pin above his desk.

_“-I’ve been awake for almost sixty hours. I’m tired and I am dirty. I’ve been from Chicago to Paris to Dallas to- where the hell am I?”_

Peter turns his attention back to the screen as Kevin’s mom begs the airport attendant for a flight back home. It might be a little weird, but there’s something about her that makes him think of his dad. Maybe it’s the cussing.   

_“I am trying to get home to my eight-year-old son! And now that I’m this close you’re telling me it’s hopeless?”_

One of the reasons Peter loves this movie so much is because Kevin’s around the same age he is. He’s smart, too, and is great at doing that thing where he thinks up awesome plans on the spot…even if he _does_ throw tantrums.

If Peter were the one to say that he wanted his family to disappear, (which he wouldn’t cause he isn’t _mean_ ), there’s no doubt Dad would ground him ‘till next _year_ and then some. Kevin’s lucky he gets left at home with a ginormous house all to himself.    

_“If I have to sell my soul to the devil himself, I am going to get home to my son.”_

A thought pops into his head. Peter turns to the arm draped around his shoulders and tugs on the calloused fingers. He’s got time to ask the question- Kevin and the burglars won’t be back for at least another couple minutes.

“Dad?” He whispers.

A low rumble practically vibrates the couch.

“ _Daaaaad_ ,” cautiously, Peter pokes at the arm like it belongs to a sleeping grizzly bear- one that’s grumpy, dangerous, and has lots and lots of teeth. Dad can be all of those things, especially when he wakes up and hasn’t had coffee.

Just when he’s about to give the arm a tug, one dark eye cracks open. “Huh? Wha—Pete, wha’s wrong?”

Peter feels his cheeks flush. He feels silly asking now, even though his old teacher Miss McLauchlan used to say that curiosity is good, and questions- all questions- are good questions.

“What- what would you do? If I got left at home.”

“Fly back and get you.” Is the slow reply. Dad's brow crumbles into a frown- not angry, just confused. “Is _that_ what you woke me for?”

The heat climbs up his face. It _was_ silly to ask him. “Umm.”

The couch cushions squeak as Dad sits up and inhales loudly. “Well, first of all, I wouldn’t forget you. Since you’re my only kid. Cathy O’Hara over there has what- five? Six kids? Wait, are you trying to imply that my memory is that bad?”

Even though the lights are at 20%, Peter can still see the teasing smile hiding in the corner of his dad’s mouth. He’s in the clear. 

“No, no! I don’t, I don’t think that. I just thought-” he taps one finger to his lip slowly, like he’s a scientist figuring out a tricky equation. “Would you take the suit? Or a jet?”

“Depends on what I have with me. Obviously the suit would be quicker, plus, _weapons_ , but I guess I could always shoot Happy out of a cannon and follow in the jet.”

Peter giggles at first from the image of Happy yelling angrily at Tony as he flies through the air, but then stills. Where would the cannon come from? “I don’t think Happy would like that. And where would you find a cannon?”

Dad's grin goes sly. “Pirate ship, duh. They always have cannons. And Happy will like whatever I like.”

“Oh!” As cool as cannons are, Peter definitely thinks there’s another way of travelling that Happy would prefer. “Maybe you could drop him out of a parachute instead! Uncle Rhodey told me that’s a lot safer.”

“But cannons,” Dad protests, and waits expectantly. When Peter doesn’t say anything, determined to defend his choice of transportation, his lips fold into a funny-looking pout. “Pete. Pal. Buddy, c’mon. _Pirate ships_.”

“Parachutes are safe.” Peter says stubbornly, even if pirates are really cool.

“Safe- _ugh_ , let me guess. Colonel Wet-Blanket Rhodes tell you that?”

“What’s a wet blanket?”

“Are you two really bickering about pirates?” A sleepy voice comes from the right, and both Peter and his dad see Pepper lifting her head to stare at them. She doesn’t look amused. “I thought you were watching the movie.”

“Were,” Dad corrects, and nudges Peter with his hip. “This one doesn’t see the fun in pirate ships anymore. Plus, I thought it was _we_ who were watching, Miss Potts. You decide to catch a bit of shut-eye while the kid was defending the safety of parachutes over the epic-ness of cannons-?”

“Shh!” Peter says, patting his dad’s arm impatiently. The burglars are trying to get in again and are just about to reach the Slippery Stairs of Doom. (Peter’s name for them, not Kevin’s. Adding ‘Doom’ to something always makes it cooler).  

“Alright, geez, so bossy.” Dad says but does as asked and sits back to watch.

By the time the movie’s nearly over and Pepper’s fallen back asleep, there’s another question in Peter’s head. He tries to keep it in, cause he’s not sure if it’s too strange to ask, or if it’s something that should be obvious, but it just won’t leave. 

A hand taps his leg questioningly as Kevin joyfully hugs his mom. “Who put fleas down your pants?”

“No-one.” Peter says; they don’t have fleas in the house, and especially none in his pants. Pepper would exterminate the house and blow up his wardrobe if there was even one. She’s kinda scary like that.

“Then what’s got you moving around like you need to pee?”

Peter pauses, and then says, “would you still get me even though....even though you’re not my mom?”

“What?”

The word is flat, said in the same manner when he’s caught Dad totally off-guard or done something he shouldn’t have. It’s like a warning- a _stop here, turn back now_.

But he hasn’t explained himself yet, he has to explain it, or else the question really will seem stupid. “Well, you know Kevin has a mom, and she’s the first one to get back home, and his dad’s pretty close too, but he comes second, and I wasn’t....I love you Dad, but I was....I wasn’t sure-”

“Woah, woah, slow down P.” Dad's eyes are very wide. “‘Course I’d still get you. You’re my kid. That’s the first rule in the Parent Handbook- Fetch Child, No Matter Where They Are.”

Peter tries to smile. “Really?”

“One-hundred-percent, kiddo. One-hundred-and-ten, if you need convincing.”

He shakes his head. Sometimes he doesn’t get his dad, like when he says something and it’s meant to make everything right and okay, all ship-shape, but it doesn’t because he’s not smiling right, or his voice wobbles.

Like right now. He’s so close that he can hear the little gasp of air as his dad inhales.

“Just…just asking, but do you....mind that it’s just me? I know I’m always in the lab, which is fine, technically it’s my job to create things, but I- I’m happy to bring back Venetia if you’re lonely, and I guess I could ask Pepper to cut down on hours....actually, you know what—”

“No, Dad, I don’t mind.” Peter doesn’t understand why he’s talking about Venetia, or asking about bringing Pepper back when she’s sitting on the couch right next to them. He doesn’t mind that Pepper’s away a lot, cause when she’s back she always makes time for him. And he doesn’t need Venetia anymore, not when he’s got his dad.

Dad keeps on talking, in that rapid-fire way that reminds him of raindrops on the roof, blocking out sound. Drum-drum-drum-drum.

“-I’ve always wondered if you’re okay, being here. I guess I thought Happy would be enough to babysit, but if you- if I’m- I’m not…”

The Grandfather clock chimes reproachingly. _Fix it, Peter, fix it_.

Peter grabs one of his dad’s shaking hands and holds on to stop the twitching. “Dad, it’s okay. I like you.”

Air tousles his curls as Dad huffs a weak laugh. “You- well, that’s good. Good. Liking, we can work with that-”

Peter flushes, unable to work out what the ache in his chest means. “No, no, Dad, I like you a lot. I love you.”

His dad’s always been funny with the _I love you_ ’s, and just like always his dark eyes slide away from Peter’s. “Love, huh? You trying to butter me up, P?”

“Arggh!” Frustrated and confused, Peter throws himself at his dad and burrows his face into the space between his neck and the cotton pyjama shirt. It’s a little abrupt, something Dad doesn’t usually like, but Peter’s afraid that if he lets go he’ll disappear. “I don’t want Neesha. I’m- I just- I want…”

Instead of chiding him for the sudden contact, hands, the best hands in the world, automatically rub his back. They're not shaking anymore. “What? What do you want?”

“Cannons.” Peter chooses, and sniffs. He feels the muscles in his dad’s neck move against his cheek as he swallows. He thinks that if he listens closely, the steady beat of his heart can be heard. “Pirate cannons.”

“I’ll get JARVIS to have a plan worked up for them, okay, P?” Though Dad's voice is soft, Peter still burrows against him, clinging tight. “You can come down to the lab and look at them tomorrow.”

He nods, tired and still a little sad but also okay now that Dad knows. No parachutes, no Neesha, just him. His dad. Peter doesn’t want anything else.

“Alright,” the hands shift, one still on his back, the other moving to carefully card his hair. Even though his dad shoots bad guys into the sun and fixes broken machinery with wrenches and lasers, he’s always been gentle with this. Like he thinks Peter’s one of those tiny, delicate crystal vases that’ll break if it’s touched too roughly. “Alright, then.”

They let the credits play, and just as Peter’s eyelids begin to drag closed, the hand comfortingly smoothing his hair pauses.  

“One more thing,” Dad says, so quiet it’s almost a whisper, but fierce too in the way that means _listen_. “One more thing, P. I’ll always come and get you. Always. Okay?”  

The words rumble against him until he thinks they’ll go down into his bones. Peter nods, and shifts his head so that he can hear the slow, steady beat of his dad’s heart.

“Okay.”   

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who needs clarity, Peter's been living with Tony and Pepper for roughly four years now. Also, this idea sprang from me while I was down in a rural-ish town watching Home Alone with friends, and wondering to myself what would it be like if it were Peter at home and Tony rushing back to get him?  
> Hope you all have a lovely day!


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